Wizards of Salem
by supernerd23
Summary: This fiction tells the story of four American wizards and their adventures in the Salem Witches' Institute of Magic.
1. Chapter 1: William

The sun came through the window, lighting up the whole room. William pulled the blanket over his head, wishing for just a few more minutes of sleep. He had been having a good dream, one in which he and his father Gregory were walking down the beach together. It was a pleasant memory, the kind that makes waking up unbearable.

"Will, you need to get up," his mother called from the hallway, "it's already noon and you're still in bed. Save your rest for tomorrow, I need you to help me run errands today."

Tomorrow was William's eleventh birthday, but he didn't exactly see what was so special about it. It wasn't like he was turning thirteen, the big number for boys. With a groan, William dragged himself out of bed and slumped down the stairs to the kitchen.

"You slept through the whole morning, so I figured I'd make you lunch. Paninis sound good?"

"Sure thing, mom," William said as he took the chair next to the empty one where his father used to sit. It's been four years since his father was lost to brain cancer, but he still imagines him sitting there, smiling with a coffee and newspaper in each hand. His father always gave him the comic section, even when he couldn't read the words. He liked that. He missed it. William looked up from the chair to see his mother staring out the window by the sink, motionless and blank.

"You alright, mom?" he asked.

She snapped out of whatever it was and smiled.

"Of course, sweetie. I was just thinking about how exciting tomorrow is going to be."

William rolled his eyes.

"I don't see why, I'm only turning eleven. I mean, last year was cool because I was finally a preteen. But until I'm thirteen, what's the point? It's not like I have any friends to celebrate with, I'm homeschooled."

His mother set both their Paninis down and took her usual seat across from him.

"Oh, you never know. Maybe this year will be exciting…" Her smile seemed to fade, as if she was unsure whether she believed her own statement.

"Anyway," she continued, "finish your lunch. I need you to run to the post office to drop off these letters while I head to the store and get some things for tomorrow."

William finished quickly. He looked forward to taking his bike to the post office, because that meant he could take the long way back along the shore. Having lived in Pensacola, Florida his entire life, William had taken a liking to the beach. He dropped off the letters and went on his way. When he reached the water, William set his bike down and sat on the sand, taking in the breeze and the sound of the waves crashing. It was peaceful, and just sitting there, he could almost feel the water moving in front of him, as well as the birds and the fish. It was here, out in nature, that William actually felt a part of something bigger. He wasn't alone here, like at home. It was as if the world was speaking to him, and he understood it.

"Well of course you understand us, it's not like we're all that different. And no, you're not alone, my friend."

William jumped up, shocked to hear another voice. He looked around, to find nothing but the trees and the sand and the water.

He hurried home, not sure what just occurred. When he reached home, the sun had already begun setting.

"William David McAdams, what on earth are you doing arriving so late? I've been worried to death about you!" His mother rushed to him and held him tight, almost too tight.

"Mom, I'm fine, I just took a detour to the beach again."

She looked at him with stern eyes.

"Well next time just let me know ahead of time. A note on the fridge, or something. You know how much I worry about you…."

"I know, mom. I'm sorry." William headed upstairs to his room and lied in bed, still contemplating the voice at the beach. He'd probably find out tomorrow. Maybe this birthday would be different.


	2. Chapter 2: Jezebel

Something wasn't right. It had been nearly three weeks since Jezebel had seen her parents, and today being her birthday, she wondered why they hadn't contacted her. Not a call, not a letter, not even a message from the neighbor. Around these parts, it was common for news to travel faster by word of mouth.

"Grandma, how come mama and daddy haven't called me for my birthday yet?"

Her grandmother, who had been sitting in her rocking chair on the front porch, didn't even look up.

"Don' worry 'bout yo mama an' daddy, child. Dey got important tings to do. You just sit here an' enjoy de day."

Jezebel had to admit it was nice out. Here in New Orleans, the weather never really got to be all that bad, but today felt especially good. She loved the view of the mossy trees and flowing creek from her grandmother's front porch. It was far from the fancy style of the city, but it was home. Jezebel was never a fan of urban settings. They were too noisy and cramped. Out here she could do whatever she wanted.

But what she wanted was to see her mother and father. Jezebel couldn't stand the idea of her parents finding better things to do than spend time with their only daughter on her birthday, of all days. It hurt to think that they'd forgotten her.

"Grandma," she said with a forceful tone, "This ain't right. Don't you think they'd want to see me today? Or even talk to me? It ain't like them to go this long without so much as a word. Not a year has gone by since they left me in your care that they don't call me to tell me happy birthday." She paced the porch, trying to rationalize the situation.

"Maybe they just lost track of the time, or didn't realize what day it was…"

Her grandmother looked up and gave Jezebel a tired look she hadn't seen before.

"Child, I don' tink dey be callin' you dis year."

Jezebel was shocked.

"Why on earth not? They make some effort to talk to me every week, and they know good and well that I turn eleven today. "

"Dat's de point, Jezy," her grandmother replied, "Dis birthday is 'sposed to be a very special one. De most special of dem all, and I don' tink your mama an' daddy can bare it."

"What's that supposed to mean? How can they not bare something happy like a birthday? I'm only turning eleven, it's not like I'm falling off the face of the earth or moving away."

Grandmother just shook her head and stood out of her chair as she walked to the den with Jezebel.

"Child, did I ever tell you why yo parents left you in my care?"

Jezebel didn't know what to say.

"I… always thought they were too busy with work to take care of me. You know Mama works in the city and Daddy's always out of town on business."

Her grandmother sighed.

"Yes, child, 'dey work in de city. But you know well as I do dat ain't got nothin to do wit' why dey left you wit me all 'dese years."

"Then why, grandma? Did they not want me? Am I not special enough for them?"

"No child!" her grandmother interjected, "it ain't dat you ain't special. Quite de contrary! You so special dat dey knew not what to do wit' all your specialness. So dey left you in Grandma Tourtant's care. Dey knew we de same kind of special."

"What do you mean, same kind of…."

And then Jezebel remembered. She remembered all the tricks and chants they she and her grandma would do when they were together. She remembered finding different rocks in the swamp that grandma would arrange as they danced around complicated designs of chalk and brick dust. She remembered why her parents never liked the way she'd talk to the trees and animals; how they'd always scold her for being like her grandmother. It all came back to one memory, one word that they so deeply despised and would yell to the heavens against: _Voodoo_.

It hit Jezebel like a ton of bricks.

She fell back on the floor, and gasped, "You mean, I'm some kind of…voodoo lady? A –a –a-"

"A witch," her grandmother finished. "An' dere ain't nothin' wrong wit' dat. You a witch like ya ol' grandma here, an' dat's somethin' to be proud of!"

Just then Jezebel heard a light flutter of wings at the door. Her grandmother looked up.

"Ah, dere you are, Obediah!"

Jezebel looked to see a black raven standing in the doorway with a letter in its mouth.

"Jezebel, get off de floor an' come meet an ol' friend of mine," her grandmother called.

"Friend?" Jezebel asked as she picked herself up and walked to the door. "It's a bird."

"Well, that's some poor manners if I ever heard any myself!" the raven replied. Jezebel couldn't believe her ears.

"How did you… but you're a ….your mouth isn't even moving!" "

Well, of course not, I'm carrying a very special acceptance letter for you, Ms. Jezebel Parker." He placed the letter at her feet. Jezebel opened it and read:

_Dear Ms. Parker,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to the Salem Witches' Institute. Please find enclosed your list of necessary books and supplies for the year._

_Term begins on August 8. We await your raven no later than July 31._

_ Yours sincerely,_

_ Katherine Jones  
>Deputy Head Mistress.<em>

Jezebel wasn't sure what to think. She stood there, staring at the letter, reading it over and over again.

"Salem…I don't think I understand."

"You a witch, Jezy," her grandmother said softly, "an' since dis be ya 'leventh birthday, you 'ave reached de age dat all witches go on to school an' become _better witches._"

"But I still don't understand," Jezebel continued, "if this is such an important thing, why couldn't Mama and Daddy be here for me? Why won't they speak to me?"

Obadiah hopped in. "That's because they themselves are not witches. They are simply human, some parts call them _Muggles_. You, my dear, have inherited the magic gene from your grandma Tourant right here. And now that you've received your letter, I suggest that you get to packing for the semester. Tomorrow's gonna be a big day for you, young lady!"


End file.
